Days later still, I'm not exactly feeling great, but I'm not feeling bad either. A lot has changed over the last couple days or so, mostly for good. My dogs have bounced back to their old-old selves. By that, I mean they know they're in Colorado, and they feel better than they ever did in Gig Harbor. Hunter, acts like a puppy again (despite now being fourteen years old), and Penny is no different (she's still just a puppy, a little older than a year). My grandpa is home from the hospital and is doing well. He's still not out of the woods yet, for his heart must heal and he must go to cardiac rehab. But, both of his cardiologists believe he'll make a full recovery. Pretty damn impressive for someone who suffered the deadliest kind of heart attack for three days in a row!

We all know my grandpa's survival was not just his doing, although his active lifestyle and healthy diet definitely helped. God gave him a grace period, and literally gave my grandpa a head's up to go the hospital in the form of an American Heart Association pamphlet detailing the subtle and not so subtle signs of a heart attack. I am still in disbelief that God could do such a thing, even though I know I shouldn't be as shocked as I am. Miracles happen everywhere, all the time. Some may simply call them "outliers" or "exceptions to the rule" (I know I often dismiss them as such, even though I'm becoming a pretty devout Christian), but others aren't so afraid to call them what they tend to be; miracles. Acts of God. Divine Intervention. 

I'm still struggling with the age-old question, "Why does God save some but not others?"

Why do some people survive cancer practically unscathed, and others are ravaged by it? Why do some people seemingly encounter literal angels who save them from dying in a car wreck, but others are never given a chance, or worse, suffer fatal injuries that don't kill them right away? Why was I chosen, for a lack of a better term, to survive the unsurvivable numerous times, yet have barely gained more than a couple scars, while others in situations a lot less serious than my own die so fast? So on, and so fourth. 

I guess this will be a question I'll wrestle with for life, kind of like the "problem" of evil and suffering. I kind of know the answer. Humans have the power to turn this earth into Eden, but greed and war and cruelty rule our flesh, preventing us from doing so. Americans spend almost twice as much on gambling every year than it would take to feed the whole world three meals per day, 365 days per year. Well-funded scientists have made it clear that they can find a way to cure a disease in less than a year in the forms of m-RNA vaccines and whatever the hell they did to cure Sickle-Cell Anemia. But, that shit costs buttloads of money, and too many people are busy literally setting that shit on fire by spending it on enough fireworks to level a town. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm guilty of spending money that could save someone from starvation on the dumbest shit, like tens of pounds of ammunition to annihilate shaken-up sodas with on a Saturday night. We all are. 

But, I still get pissed at God from time to time. Why can't He feed the 5,000 every single day? Well, I get the feeling He could and He does, but someone will still end up hogging fish and murdering anyone who tries to get their share. Why can't He prevent and cure the diseases that ravage life on Earth? He can and He does, but people will still steal hundreds of thousands of vaccines from trucks and shoot up abortion clinics believing they're doing God a favor. Oh, what a wretched species we are. 

However, as my grandpa Lyle continues to remind me, I shouldn't be so focused on the negative all the time. Part of me scoffs at his advice, because part of me seems to believe that if you're not an assholish, nihilistic pessimist, then you're not living in reality. After all, haven't you pulled your head out of the sand just long enough to see how horrific this hellscape we call earth is? But, a bigger part of me begrudgingly knows that my grandpa's right, and focusing on the negative, no matter how great it often is, will make us sick physically, mentally, and spiritually and literally kill us. My grandpa credits his survival, at least partly, on his optimism, and says his heart was singing praises to God even when he was in an ambulance on the way to Parker. Man, I can only wish I could say I've ever done the same. 

But, I've been trying, as hard as it's been, to keep my head up high and my heart facing towards the more optimistic side of life. I must admit, I am starting to feel better now that I'm working hard to focus more on the good, rather than focus on the bad. Of course, I know I shouldn't just pretend nothing is wrong, because almost everything is super-ultra fucked up. However, instead of letting the fact that practically everything is one ginormous clusterfuck cripple me, I ought to be motivated by it. Motivated to do good, that is, no matter how insignificant that good is, and no matter how many good deeds get punished. Indeed, no good deed goes unpunished. 

For now, I'm starting off small. Once or twice a week, I'll visit my grandparents and cook a meal for them. In order to support my grandpa, I've agreed to go mostly pollotarian, meaning instead of eating beef or pork, I'll focus on eating fish and birds, alongside lots of fruits and veggies (and wild game). This means I'll also be cutting out as much dairy, salt, and processed sugar out of my diet as possible, without wrecking my health. As healthy as I feel and seem, I still have Cystic Fibrosis (even though science could cure CF quite easily, but human nature kinda gets in the way of that), so I still have to avoid going on a weight-loss or salt-free diet as much as possible. However, I also want to help my grandpa feel better about giving up coffee, pretzels, and ginger snap cookies, by sacrificing my weekly steak and eating tuna poke instead, as well as cutting out caffeine completely, cold turkey. 

I'm also willing to share much of the wild game my great uncle Courtney so graciously shared with me this year, which his granddaughter (who hunts but isn't a big fan of wild game) gave to him. Normally, I'd hoard all the elk backstraps and jalapeno cheddar venison sausage for myself. But, my soul has changed since last I had a lot of game in my freezer, and I'm practically desperate to give at least half of it away to others I know would love some game. Not for any reason other than I just want to give back, and see some smiles on people's faces after a very depressing past year. Who knew that God could soften and begin to revive my cold, dead, lump-of-coal for a heart?

I guess lots of people have experienced this transition that I'm currently going through. I honestly just never truly thought my spirit could be motivated again, especially after all the hell my short(ish) life has already dragged me through, and will continue to do so until my soul goes home. Even then, I don't really think heaven is exactly free of suffering or strife (but, that's another topic for another day). Indeed, I'm still a miserable bastard. But, I'm less so than I was even just a few months ago. Hopefully, in a few months, I'll be even less of a miserable bastard than I am now. So on and so fourth, till the end of time. 

Hell, compared to just a few days ago, I'm feeling like a million bucks. Seeing my grandpa alive, at home, and in his usual flannel and jeans, really brightened up my week. So did riding around in the old Jeep YJ I thought would rot on Clarke's property in Elizabeth. But, with the help of his friend, Tor (who lives in the actual valley of Ken Caryl Valley, funnily enough), my dad got the jeep on the road a few months ago, and drove me around in it over the weekend. Oh, how I've missed the freedom of fresh wind in my face and through my hair, and the smell of dust mixed in with gas and oil, and the thrill of operating old, sketchy off-roading vehicles.

That reminds me, I ought to spend my stimulus checks (or more accurately, stimmies) on a new dirtbike. Wait... Fuck, that's basically spending money that could feed a homeless person for five years on stupid, frivolous shit. Damn, I feel like I just stepped into a bear trap. Once again, I'm gonna spend my life wrestling with these "God" problems that aren't actually God's problems. Funny how that works, ain't it?

Eh, I trust that with lots of love and prayer, I'll figure out what to actually do with that money.